


Keeping You Safe

by Atisenia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Female John Watson, Female Sherlock Holmes, Femlock, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Mutilation, Scars, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5039917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atisenia/pseuds/Atisenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the end of her disastrous marriage, Joan moves back in with Sherlock and learns - quite by accident - what happened to Sherlock's wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping You Safe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shahrazaad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shahrazaad/gifts).



> Because this is all your fault!;) Well, not _all_ , as I'm pretty sure you would prefer pure fluff to this (frankly, I would too), but it was you who suggested we should have more femwinglock and... well. I didn't mean to angst; it just sort of... happened. 
> 
> I don't _think_ the rating for this should be higher - it's all pretty vague. But please let me know if you disagree!

Joan turned onto her side and threw her pillow across the room in frustration. This was the fourth time that night when she woke up from a shallow, restless dream to a silent flat that should feel familiar but didn’t. The creaks and grinds of the old walls and floors should bring her comfort after all this time, but somehow they seemed foreign to her, as if they had managed to gain a whole new meaning while she had been away playing house with her murderous husband.

After some more twisting and turning, she gave up on falling asleep again and got up with a sigh, her wings dragging behind her. She looked back at them and grimaced. Even in the dim light of street lamps, they looked ruffled and dull. There was little left of the healthy glow they’d had just before her wedding, and even then they couldn’t compare to the magnificence of Sherlock’s black feathers. Joan could never understand why Sherlock insisted on keeping them hidden all the time. She had been saying that it was more practical for her work, but more than once keeping her wings bound had gotten Sherlock into serious trouble.

She only ever let them spread in the flat — mostly when she would wrap them around herself while sulking on the sofa. Joan hadn’t seen them in years, which filled her with a mix of guilt and longing. She had chosen her life with Mark and was never there to see Sherlock relaxed enough to free her wings.

Joan pinched the bridge of her nose and walked silently to the kitchen. She got herself a glass of milk and stepped into the living room where she froze on the spot.

Sherlock stood by the window with a forgotten mug of tea in her hands. She appeared to be watching the street, but was probably deep in her mind palace. She was wrapped up in a sheet that sank low on her shoulders, exposing her bare back right until the point where the wings started.

Only there were no wings. Sherlock’s back was covered in scars, visible even in the dark room. And there were two long jagged scars right where her wings should have been.

Joan gasped and let the glass of milk slip from her grasp. It hit the floor with a loud thud and smash of shattering glass. The noise made them both jump.

“Joan!” Sherlock exclaimed, hurriedly turning around and covering her shoulders with the sheet. “What’s wrong? Have you had a nightmare?”

Joan could only blink at her and scan Sherlock’s body with huge, horrified eyes to find any evidence that what she saw — or didn’t see — was just a trick of her imagination. A macabre image conjured by her tired brain in the darkest hour of the day. But there was nothing: no loose feather peeking out, no shifting of the sheet under moving joints, no space between the surface of the window and Sherlock’s shoulder blades. Joan swallowed, trying to get rid of the great lump in her throat. It didn’t work.

“Joan?” Sherlock asked again, this time clearly concerned. She put away the mug but still didn’t move an inch from the window.

“Show me,” Joan said and stepped over the milky glass shards. A cold calm she knew perfectly well from her army days wrapped itself neatly around her heart.

“Show you?” Sherlock asked innocently while she tightened the sheet around her body.

"Your back,” Joan said mildly, coming closer. Her left hand started shaking and she curled it into a tight fist. “Now!” she ordered, when Sherlock made no move to comply.

She could see Sherlock trying to find a way out, so she glared at her. She wasn’t going to let this go.

Finally, Sherlock deflated and turned her back to Joan. She loosened the iron grasp she had on the sheet and it fell down her shoulders, letting Joan _see_.

It wasn’t a pretty picture. Joan let out a muffled sob and traced the scars with trembling fingers.

“Who did this?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Joan...” Sherlock pleaded and then shivered when Joan’s hands came to rest where Sherlock’s wings should be.

“Tell me,” Joan said.

“I don’t think—”

“Who was it?” Joan interrupted, her tone carefully bland, even though she was already plotting bloody murder.

Sherlock swallowed again and moved her shoulders a little under Joan’s touch.

“Serbians,” she murmured and Joan’s hands fell down to grab at Sherlock’s waist. She didn’t know if she meant to comfort Sherlock or steady herself.

“What,” Joan said. It didn’t sound like a question. “The same Serbians Mycroft was going to send you back to?”

Sherlock was silent for a moment. Joan could feel her chest moving in an erratic rhythm and rested her head between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. Her wings itched with the need to wrap themselves around both of them.

“Probably,” Sherlock said at last and cleared her throat. “I wasn’t really counting on them letting me get away this time.”

“Damn it, Sherlock!” Joan exclaimed and pulled away before punching the wall. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.

She wanted to kick furniture, to scream until she couldn’t speak, to punch the bloody door until it came off its hinges.

She wanted to hunt those bastards down and make them regret they had ever laid a finger on her friend.

“Joan?” A hesitant call from Sherlock made Joan grit her teeth. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No,” Joan said sharply and looked at Sherlock. “No,” she repeated more softly and went back to gently stroking Sherlock’s back. “You have nothing to be sorry about."

"But—"

"How did this happen?" Joan interrupted again.

Sherlock sighed and turned to face her.

"When I was... away," she started. Joan pursed her lips but stayed silent. "I often ran into trouble. Moriarty's minions were no match for her, intellectually, but they were vicious and cruel."

"So why did you do it?" Joan asked, feeling like it was finally time to learn the whole truth. They had ignored Sherlock's time playing dead, but perhaps they shouldn't have.

Sherlock looked at her intently for a moment and then shrugged.

"You know why," she said quietly.

"Right."

Sherlock's words echoed in her memory. _Moriarty had to be stopped_. Apparently at whatever cost.

"Right," she repeated, angry again. "And they took your wings because... what? You badmouthed their boss? Deduced a little too much about their petty little lives?"

Sherlock frowned at her and then pulled away, covering herself with the sheet again.

"They didn't know who I was," she murmured, looking out the window. "They... they knew I had been causing them trouble, but they didn't recognize me." She took a deep breath. "They kept asking who I was and I couldn't tell them the truth, so they threatened to take my wings." She let out a shaky breath. "But I couldn't tell them and so they... they..."

She shuddered, making Joan itch to comfort her.

"But why, Sherlock?" she asked instead. "Why couldn't you just tell them? Would they have killed you if they had known? Is that it?"

Sherlock snorted.

"No," she said. "I believe they would have asked the higher ups what to do, giving me enough time to plan a successful escape."

"Then why?!" Joan exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. "What was so important that you would risk losing your wings for?"

"You!" Sherlock said angrily and it made Joan's mouth shut with a click of her teeth. Sherlock sighed and shook her head. “Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? It’s _always_ you!”

“I—” Joan started, not really sure how to finish. Her wings curled into themselves, making her feel even smaller. “What?”

Sherlock leaned her back on the wall and looked at the ceiling.

“You know about the snipers,” she said flatly. “I had taken care of them by that point, yes, but I couldn’t have been sure if anyone else knew about Moriarty’s orders. I wasn’t going to risk your life while they kept me there imprisoned with no chance of so much as getting a word to Mycroft. I tried escaping, but they caught me before I could reach a phone...” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, ignorant of the thunderstorm currently raging inside Joan. “Eventually Mycroft got me out and, well, you’re obviously alive, so...” She waved her hand as if it was something trivial and not absolutely life-changing.

Joan took a shuddering breath and stumbled back. All this time she thought Sherlock didn’t want her help during those two hellish years, that she didn't care enough for what they had, but in reality she was risking everything to protect her.

“Is...” she stuttered and swallowed. “Is this why you never let me know you were alive?”

Sherlock shrugged awkwardly in her sheet.

“If anyone suspected... if anyone hurt you, I...”

Joan just gaped at her. Her perspective on the last couple of years suddenly shifted and it hit her like a bullet to the shoulder.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” she whispered. Her wings trembled behind her.

“I understand that you are still upset about it and I really am sorry for causing you pain. I have been thinking about it and I still cannot come up with a solution that would better guarantee your safety, but maybe if I’d had more time, I—”

She was interrupted by Joan throwing herself at her and enveloping her in a crushing hug. Joan's wings spread behind her and she wrapped them protectively around Sherlock's back.

"You bloody idiot!" Joan sobbed into Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock hesitantly put her arms around Joan and hugged her back.

“Joan?” she murmured. Her fingers brushed tenderly against Joan’s feathers, and just like that, Joan decided to do something foolish.

She leaned back enough to look Sherlock in the eye and smiled.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” she said. Sherlock’s fingers shook and then clutched some of Joan’s feathers a little too hard. She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. “Is that alright?” Joan asked, right next to Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock shivered and turned her head so that their lips were mere inches away.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Joan smiled and softly pressed her mouth against Sherlock’s before withdrawing and giving Sherlock time to process. Sherlock inhaled loudly and finally opened her eyes.

“Joan...” she said, her eyes full of usually concealed emotion in the struggling light of near dawn. She traced the outline of Joan’s wings until they quivered in pleasure.

Joan groaned and leaned in to kiss Sherlock again, this time harder. Sherlock’s lips were impossibly soft and eager, her mouth opening to Joan who immediately deepened the kiss. Sherlock’s hands stayed on Joan’s wings, brushing the feathers and sending delightful shivers down Joan’s spine. Joan pressed her body against Sherlock’s and tangled her fingers in Sherlock’s silky curls. Sherlock’s pleased gasps made Joan wish she could get even closer.

Finally, they pulled apart and breathed against each other with their foreheads touching. Sherlock’s sheet was unbelievably still wrapped around her body, even though it fell down on one side, revealing a long neck and a creamy shoulder. Joan couldn’t resist a gentle nip before she pulled away completely and extended her hand to Sherlock.

“Come to bed,” she said.

Sherlock took a deep breath and took Joan’s hand. They stepped carefully over the broken glass and continued down the narrow corridor to Sherlock’s room. There, the sheet finally came off and Joan traced every scar on Sherlock's back with loving lips and fingers. She caressed Sherlock's body until she was shaking with pleasure under the cover of Joan's wings. And when Sherlock’s beautiful mind focused wholly on working Joan’s body in turn, Joan gladly let herself feel every bit of it.

After, they lay side by side with Joan's wings spread around them in a protective cocoon. Joan absently traced the scars around Sherlock's shoulder blades, while Sherlock examined Joan's old bullet wound.

"They won't grow back," Sherlock whispered and Joan's hand froze for a second before getting back to tracing Sherlock's scars with light touches.

"I know," she said and looked Sherlock in the eye. "Do you miss them?"

Sherlock shrugged with one shoulder and reached for the feather that came loose from Joan's wings. She twisted it in her hand and sighed.

"It seems pointless," she said. "I'm not going to get them back and I may as well accept it. I _have_ accepted it and adjusted accordingly..." She trailed off and frowned.

"But you still miss having wings," Joan said.

Sherlock snorted and shook her head.

"I never thought they were anything special," she said. "Just two extra limbs gained at some point during the process of evolution, terribly inconvenient when one doesn't want to be recognized. I never realised how many little things I was using them for, until..."

She fell silent again and pursed her lips. Joan smiled at her gently and kissed her briefly before taking the feather from Sherlock's hands and distracting her with fleeting touches.

"I know," she said, tracing Sherlock's hip with the feather. "And I'm sorry it happened to you." Joan swallowed and made herself continue drawing a line towards Sherlock's belly button. "Because of me," she murmured and closed her eyes.

Sherlock caught her wrist and intertwined their fingers over the feather.

"Look at me," she said. Joan wanted to protest but she owed Sherlock at least that. She opened her eyes and looked at Sherlock. "I would do it all over again if it meant you were safe."

"Sherlock..." Joan breathed.

"They're just wings, Joan. I cannot regret that decision when you're lying beside me with your heart beating strong and looking at me like..." She took a deep breath and smiled. "Nothing can ever compare to that."

Joan smiled softly and put a strand of Sherlock's hair behind Sherlock's ear.

"And you call _me_ a romantic," she said, her heart swelling with love for this amazing woman.

“Mm...” Sherlock murmured with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You should probably do something to gain your reputation back.”

Joan grinned at her.

“Well, I think I might,” she said and kissed Sherlock soundly.


End file.
